


Deal With the Devil

by Newt (Cyfiawnder)



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Chastity Device, Choking, F/F, F/M, Hair-pulling, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyfiawnder/pseuds/Newt
Summary: Demons are physically incapable of violating any contract they sign. Gallup Crueller, normally so cautious about putting her name on paper, makes a costly mistake in a moment of desperation. Ronan does hot supervillain shit. Other people are there and they get their feelings hurt.
Relationships: Gallup Crueller/Eizabeth Elliott, Gallup Crueller/Gallup Crueller, Gallup Crueller/Ronan Jaylee, Gallup Crueller/Sam Scandal, Gallup Crueller/Silvaire Roadhouse
Kudos: 6





	Deal With the Devil

It took around twenty minutes for Gallup to break down and start begging. In her brief moments of lucidity since - few and far between - she guessed that breaking point was around three hours ago.

This was her punishment for losing, for letting a noise escape her throat when she wasn’t allowed. The prospect of punishment had excited her at first; she wouldn’t admit it, but maybe she gave up a little earlier than she might have. For a while, she had trembled and moaned and been an enthusiastic participant in Ronan’s teasing. But then she had genuinely broken down, and while she couldn’t see Ronan’s face, she could tell the other woman wore a cruel grin.

“Ronan… please…”

“‘Please’ what, dear?” Her voice had that sing-song cadence that only came out when they were alone. “If you’re not specific, I won’t know what you want. Should I stop?”

The demon grits her teeth, pulls herself up on the ropes that bind her arms to the rafters to relieve her knees for a moment. Her wrists were tied together by a rough jute rope that stretched to the ceiling, each leg bound with something softer in a futomomo, calves pressing into her thighs. The combined effect was that her arms were stretched to their limit above her head and she was forced to balance on her knees, legs spread slightly. Add to that the blindfold and she was utterly helpless, completely unable to predict what Ronan was going to do next.

At least she wasn’t gagged. Yet.

“Please let me cum,” she said, humiliated but not wanting the silence to stretch too long. If it did, she knew Ronan would deny her even the chance to answer; she’d learned the hard way that a failure to ask was always her own fault, and it always meant more punishment.

“Hmm…” Ronan’s voice teased from somewhere to her left. “But I’m having _so_ much fun.” By the echoes, Gallup could tell the other woman was circling her. Admiring her work? Or staring hungrily at her like she was wounded prey? Gallup only hoped she’d stop batting her around and swoop in for the kill. 

“Why should I let you?” her voice breathed suddenly in Gallup’s right ear. “What will I get if I do?”

Gallup can’t think of a response. “Uh… wh-what do you want?” She can tell it isn’t the right thing to say even before Ronan confirms it.

“No. Wrong answer.” Gallup feels Ronan’s fingers on her lips, forcing her mouth open, and can’t help but to suck at them, enjoying the taste even though she knows what comes next. Heavy cloth wraps around the bottom of her face. She doesn’t resist; she opens her mouth to accept the gag, only moaning pleadingly in a way she knows Ronan will appreciate. Maybe if she enjoys herself enough, Gallup thinks…

But the hours drag on and the second half of the thought never comes to fruition; Ronan is never satisfied enough to give Gallup release.

With the passage of time, her gag gradually becomes soaked, and when Ronan stops what she’s doing to replace it, she asks the same question again. “What will you do for me if I let you cum?”

The first time Ronan asks, Gallup says she’ll return the favor. “Wrong answer,” and Ronan gags her again and returns to playing with her nipples.

The next time Ronan asks, Gallup says she’ll let Ronan treat her however she wants. “Wrong answer. And,” she adds as an afterthought, “I can already do that,” as she returns the vibrator to a tantalizingly low setting.

The third time Ronan asks, Gallup says she’ll do anything. Ronan pauses. “Hm… no. Wrong answer. But almost right,” and Gallup is screaming when the gag returns to her mouth and Ronan’s slender fingers tighten around the base of her tail.

And by now it’s been hours. At least an hour since her gag was last removed, and drool is dripping down onto her chest and the floor below. She can barely feel it; everything is sore, sensitive only to Ronan’s continued torture, and she’s long past the point of caring about dignity anyway. She doesn’t know what she’ll say the next time she gets the chance, and all of a sudden it’s here, Ronan is pulling the gag from her face and she’s panicking, and before Ronan can even ask the damnable question - 

“ **Please** , Ronan! I'll do anythin' you want. Tell me, please. I don't care what it is, just... **_please_ ** let me cum-”

She’s interrupted by Ronan’s lips against hers. She tastes her own sex on the woman’s tongue and that alone is almost enough to push her over the edge. “Shh, shh, dearheart,” Ronan says, pulling away, “shh, my pet, that’s all you had to say. All I want from you is everything.” And Ronan retreats for a moment, walking away, and Gallup sceams, begging for her to return, to finish what she started. When Ronan does come back, after too long, far too long _(or was it really just a few seconds?)_ , she finally pulls the blindfold from the demon’s face.

Gallup blinks against the light, her eyes struggling against even the dim glow of the few candles still burning and the ambient light streaming through the window - the _open_ window, she now realizes, but she is too far gone to wonder if anyone has seen her, too far gone to feel embarrassment, to feel anything. Her focus returns to Ronan, and she sees her standing there, still mostly clothed, pen and paper in hand.

“Anything, right? Then sign this.” She holds the paper before Gallup’s face, and it takes a minute for the words to come into focus, a minute more for the demon’s sluggish brain to comprehend what she’s seeing. A contract.

‘ **Release of Infernal Service** ’

‘Ronan Jaylee (undersigned) will give Gallup Crueller the best night of her life.’

And there was Ronan’s signature.

‘In return, Gallup Crueller (undersigned) shall not be allowed to orgasm for one week, starting when she next falls asleep.’

And a blank space for her name or thumbprint. 

The ink was long dry. In a calmer state of mind, Gallup would realize Ronan had planned this a long time ago.

In retrospect, Gallup would try to argue that she thought through the implications of this, did some utilitarian balancing of her immediate pleasure and Ronan’s goodwill against the likely torment of the week to come and the precedent this would set. But the one thing she vividly remembered, in the dark moments of regret in the days that followed, was that she was eagerly nodding before she had even read past the first line. She hears her own voice, a quiet, desperate whisper: “I’ll do anything for you, Ronan” - and then comes the sharp prick of a pin on her thumb above her, and the feel of paper beneath her finger, and Ronan’s eyes inches from her own as she bends down for another greedy kiss -

Oh gods. Oh gods below, was this really happening? This humiliation, this act of absolute submission was enough to send her tumbling over the edge, she was letting go, cumming already with barely a touch, and as she gives herself over to the pleasure, what little strength was left in her body falls away and she’s hanging forward by the rope on her wrists.

Ronan doesn’t stop there. With a gentleness not apparent until now, she unbinds Gallup’s wrists - a quick pull is all it takes, five seconds and she’s free, she was always just five seconds from freedom - and carries her dazed and trembling form to bed, offering Gallup every pleasure she can imagine and a few she can’t, before she finally passes out; and her final thought is: “Well, Ronan held up her end of the bargain.”

\--

When she wakes, sore and satisfied, she feels momentarily disoriented. The light streaming through the farmhouse window is far too bright; it’s already late in the day. Another aberration: the warm press of Ronan’s chest against her back, her hand cupping one of Gallup’s breasts and her breath tickling the demon’s neck with every rhythmic fall of her chest. Ronan rarely stayed the whole night, and never slept longer than Gallup. She smiles. Stupid to read into it, but… did it mean anything? Was she just tired, or was she really becoming more comfortable in this… could she call it a relationship now?

As the thoughts turn in her head, her partner stirs, and Gallup rolls over to look her in the face. “Morning, darlin’.” She pushes a lock of red hair away from Ronan’s face, and Ronan offers a languid smile as she stretches.

“Not sure it’s morning anymore, pet. How did you sleep?” Ronan’s hands move to tangle themselves in Gallup’s hair, and the two share a kiss before she can respond. 

Gallup’s mind is only half-awake and barely focused on the question, but even so, something is tugging at her. How _had_ she slept? Why did that playful pet name feel vaguely sinister? She starts thinking back to last night, even as Ronan gets bored waiting for an answer and starts moving down Gallup’s body. 

A kiss on the neck, a soft moan; _Ronan had come over early in the night, hadn’t she?_

Another on her breast, and she bites her lip; _so we must have stayed up awfully late to have slept so long._

Ronan’s head disappears beneath the blankets and Gallup gives a gasp of pleasure. It wasn’t like her to be so direct, so giving. What had brought on this mood? But with Ronan tongue-deep inside her, hands on her thighs, she can’t bring herself to care, only lays back with a sigh and gives herself over to the pleasure. As her breathing becomes ragged, she reaches a hand down and grabs Ronan’s hair in a rare moment of dominance, tells her not to stop, she’s so close -

But though Ronan keeps going - zealously - Gallup remains tantalizingly on the edge. And then she remembers.

 **_Evil_** _. This woman is evil, pure and simple._ Gallup pulls Ronan’s hair and she surfaces, grinning wickedly. “I thought you didn’t want me to stop?”

“Ronan. What did you _do_?” But the horror in Gallup’s voice makes it clear that she remembers all too well. She hopes against hope that it was just a bad dream, some awful prank - hopes which are dashed when Ronan pulls herself up and plucks a slightly-rolled sheet of paper from the nightstand.

“Nothing you didn’t ask me to do, dear,” she responds, tone innocent and light. Gallup sees her own smudged, dark-red thumbprint on the page, surrounded by a faint scorch mark. “Hm,” Ronan says, smirking at her handiwork, “I think I’ll have this framed.”

\--

Ronan is in the kitchen making breakfast when her partner emerges from the bedroom, finally cool enough to think properly. “Ronan, I want you to - oh, come on, put on some damn clothes!” Gallup says, blushing furiously when Ronan turns with a mischievous smile to reveal nothing beneath her apron. 

“You want me to put on clothes?” she asks with a pout. “You don’t… like my body?”

Gallup stammers, immediately disarmed, cursing herself for being embarrassed by Ronan’s antics. “I - look, of course - I like you! I like your body! But that’s not - it ain’t the point right now, Ronan! You took advantage of me! I want you to break the contract.”

“Mm… no, I don’t think so. What, you really think you can’t last a week?” she asks with a giggle. “You’re going to have to, one way or another. I doubt I could break it at this point, anyway. If the contract isn’t already broken - and judging by your reaction this morning, it’s not - it means I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Coffee?” Ronan sets a mug on the table, bending over far more than necessary under the flimsy pretense of grabbing a coaster.

Gallup groans in frustration. Ronan was right, damn her. And it was only a week. Just a week. Just a week, she keeps telling herself. How bad can it be?

“Don’t forget about your date with Sam tonight, dear.”

\--

Gallup’s phone buzzes again near the end of dinner. As before, she promises herself she won’t check it, she breaks the promise several seconds later, and she regrets breaking the promise when she sees it’s another lewd picture from Ronan. Gods, how many photos did this woman _take_ of them? Most of these weren’t from last night, either, and they ranged from “tasteful” to “humiliating.” 

Sam coughs again. “You’re, uh… looking at your phone a lot. And just going off your hair, I’m starting to feel a bit jealous.”

Gallup’s face is burning as she sets the phone down again. “It’s nothing, darlin’,” she mumbles. “Just Ronan sending me… stupid stuff. You don’t need to be jealous.” And though she knows she’ll regret it, she can’t help but offer. “Hey, d’you wanna get outta here?”

Though the date was nice enough, the rest of the night is frustrating and disappointing. She can’t bring herself to tell Sam about what happened with Ronan and feels even worse about faking it; she can tell Sam’s ego takes a hit, but he bears it well enough. This just makes her feel even guiltier, and she can’t come up with a response for Sam’s self-deprecating joke. The pillow talk dies as quickly as it started. _One more casualty of Ronan’s mischief_ , she thinks as she gets dressed again. On the nightstand, her phone buzzes once more, and she falls asleep with the photo still burning in her mind.

\--

The next few days follow the same rhythm. Ronan, it seems, had been busy setting up dates on her behalf. That next day, when Eiz texts her, she tries to cancel their date, but relents when she picks up the disappointment in the other woman’s words. Damn, damn, damn. Every day she realizes there’s no way to back out without hurting someone, so she’ll just have to push forward and keep things chaste. And every day, she’s too worked-up to take these lessons to heart, and ends the night bitter and even more frustrated than before.

Eiz's hands, slightly rough but gentle and familiar and persistent, stir distant memories in Gallup. But she has to physically push the other woman away when it’s clear she won’t stop otherwise.

Day three. Her own alternate shows up with a bottle of whisky and a deck of cards. By the time they’ve left their clothes and cards on the table, it’s clear to Gallup that her alternate alone seems privy to Ronan’s plans - or at least to Gallup’s current predicament - and takes delight in tormenting her for a few hours, prodding at all her weak points until she begs for mercy.

Day four. Sam again, since “she” sent a note and flowers apologizing for being closed off the other night - was Ronan watching them even then, or did she only guess? But though Sam is even more tenacious, this night of course ends no better than the last, and Gallup is almost in tears by the time he collapses on top of her. This time, he doesn’t stay the night.

Day five. Unbelievable, un-fucking-believable, did Ronan really have the power to make this happen, could she really stoop this low? Silvaire shows up, on one of her brief and sporadic releases from… wherever the hell she was stuck these days. This, at least, was a nice date, a chance to catch up with her tragic lost lover. After a short and sweaty and embarrassing tumble, Gallup is finally able to push through her shame to tell Silvaire about the contract she had made. The other demon chuckles a bit, but - is it Gallup’s imagination? - seems a little jealous, a little too clingy for the rest of the evening.

Day six. No texts, no phone calls, no sudden and unexpected dates. No interruptions of any kind other than Ronan’s regular reminders of all the compromising positions in which Gallup had found herself over the years. She’s still laying in bed late into the day, idly touching herself while scrolling through the nearly-endless string of photos Ronan had sent - broken only by her own curses or pitiful begging. She lets out a groan. This isn’t helping. Almost on command, her phone buzzes with another text from Ronan. No picture, though. A gift emoji, nothing else.

She puzzles over it for a few minutes. Not an accident, surely, but she can’t decipher it and Ronan continues to ignore her texts, so she tosses the phone to the other side of the bed and gets up. Far from the most frustrating thing in her life right now, anyway. 

The cool water of the shower is bracing but rejuvenating, sizzling into steam as Gallup washes her hair. The persistent lust of the last week recedes and she feels almost like herself again. She steps out - carefully, there’s still a huge crack in the tile from the last time her hooves slipped on the slick shower floor - and towels off, pulling on a plush black bathrobe Ronan had brought her as a housewarming gift. The thick cotton feels like a warm cloud against her cold skin, and she shivers in delight as she imagines Ronan’s hands reaching beneath the robe, an arm around her waist to lift her up against the bathroom counter - 

“Aaagh. No. No. Settle down. Two more days,” she tells herself out loud. _Not even two days. Thirty-six hours at most._ Who would she call to break this - well, not exactly a dry spell, but… Anyway. She shouldn’t want it to be Ronan. But even though Ronan is the reason she’s in agony right now, that night was… 

She realizes with a start that she’s lost herself in another daydream. Food. Yeah, food. Then maybe a run, or batting practice, or anything to get her dressed and outside. That would be good.

But the wide crate on her kitchen table somehow immediately dashes her hopes of leaving. There’s a single black rose on top. _Ronan_. This explains the text from earlier. She shouldn’t open it. She doesn’t want to open it. Nothing good can come of this.

She opens it.

It’s… about what she expected, if she’s being honest. Except for one thing. The myriad - daunting? - array of toys is supplemented by a set of polaroids, one attached to each. Ronan has, without exception, modeled everything in the box for her, from a set of soft leather arm cuffs (Ronan’s arms are spread wide by a bar behind her neck) to an electric saddle (Ronan is wearing one of Gallup’s hats and nothing else). 

Everything in the box sets Gallup’s heart racing, even the heavy, padded chastity belt at the bottom of the crate, accompanied by a rather tame picture of Ronan twirling a ring of keys on her middle finger. Gallup knows immediately that she’s going to lose, but she makes an effort anyway - closing the crate, dragging it to a corner of the room out of view, and taking a few halfhearted steps toward the front door before giving in and turning back. She spends the rest of the day locked in the bedroom, sending unrequited and increasingly pleading texts to Ronan while she plays with herself. 

By dark, she’s exhausted but no less frustrated. Her body is shaking and her sheets are soaked through with sweat. _This has to stop. I have to…_

Her hands betray her, plunging back into the box at her bedside to continue the now-familiar game: Take something at random, look at the picture, get lost in a fantasy and play it out until you collapse… But when she pulls out the chastity belt, she’s not sure what comes next. The keys are included, so… what? Put it on, see how long you can hold out? It’s not like there’s a real difference right now anyway.

She’s surprised by how comfortable it is, almost certainly fitted to her form given that it’s not adjustable. It explains why Ronan didn’t exactly model this one for her, anyway. As she hinges the front into place, the small locks give a soft click, sending a dark thrill up her spine. She panics for a moment, tries to tug the belt off or slip her fingers beneath, but it doesn’t yield. She forces herself to take a deep breath. The keys are right there. No real risk. 

And, in fact, she feels a little calmer now. The temptation isn’t gone, exactly, but it’s faded into the background, easier to dismiss. As the adrenaline drops away, her exhaustion washes over her again. Suddenly she can barely keep her eyes open. _It’s actually kind of comfortable,_ she thinks, laying back into a mostly-dry spot on her bed. _And I can always take it off in the morning_.

\--

“Ronan. Gimme the damn keys.”

 _A remarkably restrained response_ , she thinks, then curses herself for the accidental pun. Then curses herself more for playing into such a stupid trick.

She woke on the dawn of the final day feeling worse than she thought possible. Her resolve wavering immediately, she went for the keys on her nightstand, telling herself unconvincingly she was just going to take a shower -

The keys. Where were the keys?

No, no no no. Her lust has returned, raging inside like a wildfire, and her hair is blazing as she spends the next twenty minutes tossing the room. She stops suddenly, looking back at the nightstand. At the rose on the nightstand. Had she put it there? No… no, she had left it on the kitchen table, neglected to even find a vase. Which meant…

… 

“Ronan! This ain’t funny. I’m gonna get real mad if you don’t answer.”

She ineffectually tugs again at the belt, bracing her hooves on the bottom of the bedframe and arching her back with the effort, but… nothing. This bespoke nightmare was apparently meant to withstand even demonic strength.

Her phone finally buzzes in reply. “What’s this about keys, dear?”

“You know damn well what it’s about.”

“You know how it works. If you’re not specific…”

Gallup almost throws her phone across the room, but barely suppresses the urge. It’s a few minutes before she’s composed enough to tap out a reply. Try as she might to stick to the facts, she can’t keep it from sounding a little submissive. “The… belt. The chastity belt you sent me. I put it on. The keys are gone now. I want you to unlock it.”

A laughing emoji in response.

“Ronan!!”

“It’s not like you to misplace things like that, pet. I think I have a spare set, but... well, it shouldn’t matter anyway for another, oh, twelve hours? Come over tonight and perhaps I can take it off for you.”

Gallup briefly considers risking an attempt to remove it at her old forge, but the potential embarrassment of being discovered by a visitor to the clubhouse is enough to keep her on the path of least resistance. No telling what might happen there, but at least there’s a limit to how much damage Ronan can do.

Right?

\--

Gallup tugs self-consciously at her dress as she steps into the dining room. It was the same one she had worn to the ball, rarely touched since; she would’ve preferred pants, but no matter what she tried, the device underneath remained, to her eyes, painfully obvious. She began to second-guess her choice of attire as Ronan eyed her hungrily.

“Well, well. Look at you, dear. All dolled up for our little date? I’m flattered.”

Gallup hates the blush that creeps onto her cheeks. “That ain’t what this is.”

“Why the nice dress, then?”

Gallup can’t think of a quick excuse and can’t work up to telling the truth, so she stays quiet as Ronan chuckles

“Well, I’ll admit you’re rather earlier than I was expecting. I haven’t even started on dinner. Any requests?”

“I ain’t here for dinner, Ronan. The keys. Now.”

Gallup’s stomach sinks as Ronan turns away, just half a second too slowly to hide the smirk on her face. “Ah, I’m afraid I have some bad news, pet. Turns out I don’t have a spare after all.” A switch flips inside Gallup. Her hair blazes bright in the twilit room. “I took the liberty of calling the manufacturer, but it seems you’re out of luck for at least two weeks, maybe three.” Gallup is standing again, closing the distance automatically, conscious thought discarded entirely. “I suppose we could have a locksmith take a look, but that might be a little emb-”

Her words are cut short as Gallup slams her face first against the wall. The demon realizes she is growling, and the realization evokes a barking, guttural laugh. She spins Ronan around and grabs her hair, leaning in close to study the mischief in those deep green eyes. “Oh, you're gonna regret that, darlin'. You're gonna be beggin' to unlock me before the night's out.” 

Ronan lets out a noise of mock horror as Gallup rips her blouse open, pretty buttons flying everywhere as the demon grabs her face and gives her a violent kiss. Gallup finally gives in, without reservation, to her animal brain, and everything fades to black as she drags Ronan into the bedroom by her hair.

\--

A timer on Ronan’s phone goes off, startling Gallup back to reality. She releases her grip on the other woman’s neck, momentarily dazed. She’s in Ronan’s bed, on top of her, the two of them stark naked - well, mostly naked, in Gallup’s case. The sun has long since set. 

Ronan drops all pretense of timidity, smiling coolly up at the demon straddling her. “Well, you were very cute, but I think we’re about ready to have some real fun.” Ronan flips her without any apparent effort, suddenly pinning her to the bed by her wrists, knee on her abdomen. “I could keep you locked up a while longer… but your contract is finally up, and I think you deserve a treat for making it this far.” 

Ronan opens a constrained fist to reveal _(when did she grab them?)_ the keys that had haunted every corner of her mind for most of the day. Even without Ronan pinning her down, she is momentarily paralyzed as - without pretense, without further teasing or play - Ronan finally releases her. She breathes a sigh of relief, but anger fights its way to the surface through her desperation. She tries to hold onto the control she feels slipping through her grasp.

“That wasn’t funny, Ronan. Messin’ with me is one thing, but your games are startin’ to hurt folks.”

“ _My_ games, dearheart? You signed the contract willingly, didn’t you? That makes it _our_ game.” Ronan’s voice is playful, but there’s an edge beneath the impishness. 

“I - I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. You took advantage of me. And all those dates-”

“The first of which you’d already scheduled before our little tryst, no? And if you had more self-control, you could have cancelled them all. You’re complicit at best, completely responsible at worst. Don’t blame me for your own shame.”

Gallup swallows the lump in her throat, confusion and guilt coloring her cheeks. She can’t find a rebuttal.

“Of course, you can leave right now if you’d like,” Ronan says, lightly brushing her fingers up Gallup’s thigh. “Run off to fix the damage you’ve done. But they’ll still be there in the morning. I won’t.”

The last of Gallup’s anger falls away at Ronan’s touch. Only shame and humiliation and _need_ are left. “I’ll stay,” she whispers quietly.

“That’s not enough. Say it.”

Gallup knows the words, and they come to her lips easily this time. “I’ll do anythin’ for you, Ronan.”

“Good girl.”

The last illusions of power and dominance flee from Gallup’s mind. As the first orgasms begin to black out her thoughts and she gives herself over to the bliss, she understands that, with or without the contract, Ronan has always been in control.

\--

When they are finally done, when dawn is breaking outside, when Ronan collapses onto Gallup’s chest and gives her a long, tender kiss, when they roll onto their sides and face each other only inches apart - each stares into the eyes of the other, searching for something. Gallup sees in Ronan a fierce possessiveness and avarice, a smug and self-satisfied joy at her total dominance of Gallup. Ronan sees in Gallup exactly that for which she was hoping: exhaustion and numb pleasure and the beginnings of addiction.

Gallup mumbles something, quietly, purringly, and it’s a moment before Ronan can decipher the words. 

“Got anything else for me to sign, darlin’?”


End file.
